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THE SABBATH

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Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Dec 24, 1857

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 11, No. 7.

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THE SABBATH.

By Editor

With silent awe, I hail the sacred morn Which slowly wakes while all the fields are still, With soothing calm on every breeze is borne; A graver murmur gushes from the rill, An echo answers softer from the hill, And softer sings the linnet from the thorn; The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill. Hail! light serene, hail! sacred Sabbath morn.
The rocks float silently by in airy drove; The sun a placid yellow lustre shows; The gales that lately sighed along the grove, Have hushed their downy wings in sweet repose: The hovering rack of clouds forgets to move; So smiled the day when the first morn arose.—Ed.